Highway
by Vague Notion
Summary: Kurt and his father are in an accident. No cell service, no one coming from either direction. For the sake of his father, he must find help. Please read and review!
1. Fudgesicles

**Summary**: Kurt and his father are in an accident. No cell service, no one coming from either direction. For the sake of his father, he _must_ find help.

**Warnings**: Descriptive injuries, angst.

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**Part I – Fudgesicles. **

"It's not that I don't care, son, I just thought you'd rather I didn't go."

"Well, no. I know you had work, but I had a solo, that's all."

"And I'm sorry I missed it," Burt insisted, letting go of the steering wheel with his right hand for a moment, just so he could pat his son's leg before returning it. "Next time, I'll be there twenty minutes early."

Kurt smiled some, but rather than replying, turned his attention out the window. The droplets of rain shown in the light of the streetlamps, making them sparkle in the dark. Dropping his head back against the headrest, he sighed and listened to the rain drum against the windshield, the wipers swishing back and forth to chase them away. His father's ever-reliable truck sped along the dark road, leading them home through the storm.

"But you did well?"

Green-blue eyes flashed back toward his father, and a smile appeared without his knowing. "Yeah. I'm better than all of them."

Burt grinned, somehow finding comfort in his son's confidence. With all the bullying he suffered, it was good to know he was still strong about something.

"Well then, this calls for a celebration. Fudgesicles when we get home?"

Kurt's smile grew more familiar and appreciative. "Only if you don't eat the whole box before I can get to them."

His father chuckled, shaking his head. "Give me some credit, kid. I saved one for you last time."

"_One_. Out of twelve. Not fair, dad."

They were coming up upon an intersection, one that would lead them over a three-lane road before continuing along the quiet one they had been on. Kurt couldn't see any headlights through the trees, just the looming red light that hung over the intersection, blinking on and off.

"Alright, fine. I'll save _two_ for you. Happy?"

"Carole probably won't let you eat two yourself, you know."

Burt grinned at this, thinking fondly of his new wife. "But I made sure to buy those fat-free ones."

"That doesn't mean they're good for you," Kurt started, turning his head around as they slowed to a stop. His father glanced both ways, but it was particularly useless; there were no headlights, and through the drilling rain, they couldn't see a thing waiting for them.

So he started forward again. Kurt smiled, a thought coming to his head that he opened his mouth to share, but before the words formed on his tongue, he saw a black shape out of his window. By the time it was close enough for him to recognize it, he only had the breath for one word.

"_Dad!_"

The oncoming car collided with Kurt's side of the truck, sending them skidding to the left. A cry of shock escaped Kurt's mouth before his window shattered, and the door bent in toward him. He felt the metal hit his arm, pressing it firmly against his side. His father jerked hard on the wheel, a sharp crack shooting through the windshield. Brakes screeched, weight shifted.

The truck's weight skid across the drenched road before flipping. It rolled three times, finally settling to a stop upside-down, in the middle of the three-lane road. The other car, whose headlights had been left off, was motionless several yards away, its hood crunched in beyond belief.

There was a long, terrible silence. The echoes of the accident were numbed by the drilling rain, blotting out whatever snaps and crackles came in the aftermath of the crash.

Above the scene, the red light blinked on, off, on, off, its light casting an eerie glow over the two still cars.

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Please review! Will be updated shortly.


	2. Cracks

_Wow_. I logged on this morning to find like, a billion alerts and favs. Thanks _so much_ you guys! I just discovered Glee recently, and it's awesome that the community is so active! It encouraged me to write more, sooner.

So here you go!

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**Part II – Cracks.**

He was vaguely aware of the star-burst crack looming in front of him. It would appear, glowing red before vanishing again just as silently. Crack, blackness. Crack, blackness. For a long time, he just watched it, his head heavy with cement, his eyes somehow hanging open.

Gradually, his senses returned to him. It was dark, and silent. No more rain pounding on the windshield, no more wipers swishing back and forth, no more truck engine. Just cold, dead silence.

He shifted, trying to move. His arms hung above his head, dangling as he swayed. How... how were they doing that? Through a groan, he clenched his eyes shut and tried to move, finding that his body pulled downward rather than up.

He opened his eyes again. The crack was a few feet from his face, and above him, the dashboard. He looked down at the car ceiling below, and suddenly realized why he felt so light-headed.

Kurt pulled his weight back up, trying to get free from his seat belt. He was hanging in his seat, the truck still overturned. His hips twisted, his leg lifted from the seat, and suddenly, Kurt felt it release him. He gave a sharp cry as his weight dropped down into gravity's pull delivering him on the ceiling of the truck's cabin.

For a moment, he was still. Every muscle was tight with pain, and he couldn't see clearly. Then, as the alternating red light appeared to him again, he tried to breathe. The first attempt failed; it was as if his lungs didn't work. The second was more successful, but just so, and for several long minutes, he just lay there gasping.

Finally, a moan escaped his lips. His eyes opened again, staring at the seat above him, how the side of the truck was so oddly shaped. He could see a dark spot on the tan fabric, even in the dark; blood. His eyes shifted around, trying to see what could be wrong with him. His arm hurt more than the rest of his body, and his knee ached. His head throbbed... What else?

Suddenly, Kurt's head began to whirl. _Dad!_ Twisting, the teenager looked desperate toward the driver's seat, his eyes widening. He gasped, his chest slowly starting to work again.

"D-..." he started, the form of his father lying on the roof beside him. His leg was extended upward, wrapped in the seat belt. It was bent horribly.

"... Dad..." Kurt panted, his voice all but gone. With whatever strength he had, Kurt pulled his weight toward his father, heavily favoring his left side. He groaned, pain shooting through him as he slowly reached the man's shoulder.

"Dad," he insisted, pressing the palm of his left hand against Burt's shoulder. "W-... wake up..."

He was answered with a groan. Then, after a moment of silence, a tight word.

"Kurt?"

His father's voice was constricted with pain, but despite how awful it sounded, the man managed to roll his head toward his son. "Kurt," he said again, his arm shifting some as if he had intended to reach for his child. It only moved a few inches.

"Don't move," Kurt rasped, gently pressing his forehead against his father's shoulder. For a moment they lay still before Burt shifted again.

"Call for help," he whispered. Kurt opened his eyes and lifted his head, a little strand of blood connecting it with his father's shoulder before it broke. Weakly, Kurt touched a few fingers against his forehead and flinched. It felt sticky, slimy and lumpy. And it stung, like a mother.

After a moment of thought as to where his phone could be, Kurt redirected his left hand down toward his right pocket. He had to lift his middle to reach it, and the pain in doing so made him groan. His father exhaled his name worriedly.

By the time Kurt fished the device out, he was out of breath. His hand clutched it weakly, and he looked down at it desperately.

He didn't expect the screen to be crushed. A crack, not unlike the one on the windshield, looked back at him.

The car had hit Kurt's side of the truck. His phone had been in that pocket. It must have taken the brunt of the hit instead of his hip. As his mind swirled with this realization, he became aware of the ache in his side.

"Dad, your phone," he whispered. With each breath, he was regaining strength and consciousness. Burt shook his head. _No, I don't have it_. Kurt asked again, and once more after that, unwilling to accept the fact that they had no way of calling for help.

"Dad, come on. We gotta get out of here."

Burt just shook his head. "I can't, kid," he rasped. Kurt's eyes flashed toward his leg, lifted up and hanging there, constricted in the seat belt. He swallowed the bloody lump that had formed in the back of his throat. They both lay in silence for a few minutes, Burt groaning, Kurt panting.

"I'll go," Kurt said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I can probably walk. I'll go get help."

"No," Burt replied, hardly waiting for Kurt to finish speaking. "No you will not."

"Dad, you need help." Kurt managed to get up onto his left elbow, slowly getting to his knees. His body screamed at him to stop, but he couldn't.

"No, some-... someone will come. Don't be stupid..."

"It's only a mile or two. I'll come... back." Kurt paused, clenching his teeth to hide the groan that welled up from his chest. He was almost too disoriented to move.

"Kurt, stop," Burt insisted. His voice was growing weaker, as was his defiance to his son leaving. Kurt remained on all fours for a moment before taking a deep breath and tilting his head toward the back seat. The junk that his father had let accumulate back there was lying on the ceiling now, and among them was a large towel. Reaching for it, Kurt pulled it free from the other clutter and draped it over his father's torso, breathing carefully as he looked for something to support his father's head.

"Kid, stop. You'll just hurt yourself."

"I'm fine, dad," Kurt lied, his hip throbbing, his right arm almost completely useless. Awkwardly, he yanked free an old sweatshirt and folded it inelegantly. "C-can you life your head?"

Burt tried, Lord help him he _tried_. Somehow, Kurt managed to force the jacket underneath him, letting him relax again.

"I'll be back, okay?" Kurt exhaled, tears welling in his eyes as he said the words. "Just stay here, okay? Try to stay awake."

"Kiddo," his father started. Kurt shook his head, thinking that Burt was going to protest again.

"I love you, Kurt. No matter what."

The boy sobbed once, inhaling shakily. "I love you too, dad."

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Please review! I hope to continue the fast updates.


	3. Bambi

Here's to hoping that Kurt gets help in time! Thanks for all the alerts and favs, it's awesome to know you guys are interested!

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**Part III – Bambi. **

The vertigo was awful. Kurt stumbled a few feet from the truck before collapsing back to his knees, vomiting on the asphalt. The bile burned his throat, leaving him spluttering and coughing, gasping for air. He felt himself tilt, but refused to let gravity tug him back to the ground. He had to get help, to find a phone or car or _anything_. Anything that could help his dad.

After another dry heave, Kurt caught his breath and slowly got back to his feet. His eyes lifted, squinting through the dead of night toward the car that had caused the whole nightmare. Weakly, he began to move toward it, his right leg dragging a bit.

"H-... Hey!" He tried, as he drew up along side of the wreck. "Are you okay?"

The closer he got, the easier it was to see his answer. The front end was smashed to an unrecognizable heap. This windshield, not unlike the one from his father's truck, was also horribly smashed, only the cracks raced away in spirals from one spot before the driver's seat. It was muddy with some dark color, and through the hole where the door's window used to be, Kurt could see the driver slumped over the steering wheel, neck bent in an unnatural way.

Kurt buckled away, falling to the side of the road and dry heaving again. When only acid burned his throat, he caught his breath and coughed, sobbing a few times.

But no. There was no time to waste. The disfigured body of the offending driver was only more cause to get help. He had to be strong for his dad.

Kurt's eyes moved back to the truck, lying several yards away. He couldn't hear anything, just the shaking of leaves as wind blew through the branches on either side of the road. Taking a deep breath, (or as deep a breath as his aching chest would allow,) Kurt slowly got to his knees, then his feet. He clutched his right arm to his side, wincing as the pain began to center around his elbow and shoulder. He looked in either direction down the quiet road his father and he had been on.

It would be empty for a while before they got to residential areas. He knew that road well; it was all forest and farm land. On the other hand, the three-lane highway would lead for a mile or two until it hit an old gas station, and then another mile into town.

Making up his mind, Kurt started down the silent highway. Every step was painful, but the more he limped along, the easier it got. If started to feel rhythmic, repetitive. Like singing a harmony, or repeating the same note over and over again in the background. Step, drag, limp. Step, drag limp. Like dance moves.

The night was cold and wet. As he limped along, he became aware of movement in the trees around him. Twigs snapping occasionally, animals scurrying from branch to branch. It was both terrifying and comforting at the same time, to know he was in the company of wild animals. Not safe, but not alone.

He kept limping.

After a while, Kurt looked over his shoulder. Far behind him, the red light kept blinking on and off. He could see the forms of the two cars, lying still in the middle of the road. There were no distant headlights in either direction, no car engines, no sounds besides those of nature.

"Hold on, dad," he breathed, turning back around. "Please hold on."

The road started to bend up ahead, and as he approached it in his painfully slow manner, he spotted a light between the trees. Very slowly, he panted and pushed farther, his hip screaming at him to stop, his arm swaying painfully at his side. The light wasn't that of a car, but maybe... a house? There was a building, it looked like.

Gas station.

The second Kurt realized this, he started forward faster. He sobbed some, the pain racking his small form as the cold night air settled in through his jacket. He was maybe thirty yards away, but as the bend straightened out, the gas station came into full view. It was small: two pumps, one little hut. A bright streetlight standing beside the structure, sending unnaturally bright light in all directions.

Kurt looked over his shoulder and bit his lip. He could no longer see the red light, couldn't make out where his father was. It was too far behind him. Drawing a shaking breath, he looked back around toward gas station and kept limping toward it.

A lump lay on the shoulder of the road a few yards ahead. As he approached, the smell hit his nose, and he clapped his left hand over his face; it smelled like rot and decay. The closer he got, the easier he could make out the antlers, see the form of the deer take place. It's neck was broken, like that driver's was.

Kurt circled around it, putting as much distance between it as he could without wasting time and effort. The thing had been lying there for a few days, it looked like, and the closer he got, the more obvious it was.

_Bambi died too_, he thought bitterly, forcing himself to look away. How awful this night was, that everything seemed to be dying and lost. His mind swirled as he struggled along, feeling hot and cold and achy. He wanted to sit down for a minute, just to rest, just to catch his breath. But he knew he wouldn't be able to get back up if he did, and his father needed him to keep going. Even if it meant doing more damage in the long run. What's the point of self preservation if you're going to die anyway? He would rather hurt himself and get help than sit around and let the cold kill him.

The gas station grew steadily closer until Kurt found himself limping into the parking lot. There were no lights on inside of the little structure, and the only car was elevated on cinder blocks, without wheels. The cracks of the driveway were covered in moss, and the pumps were rusted.

"Hello?" Kurt yelled, not yet registering the signs of abandonment. "Help! Please, anybody!"

Silence. Kurt stopped just outside the boarded-up window, staring at the graffiti with confused eyes before leaning against it. Suddenly, he was too dizzy to think straight. Breathing carefully, Kurt kept his eyes shut and thought. No one was here. He could go the next mile or so into town, and flag down the first person or car he found. Surely there had to be some other option, though-his hip was killing him, and his arm hurt so badly that no matter how he held it, it still screamed.

Carefully, Kurt lifted himself off the board and turned. Maybe he could get inside the shack, and there would be a phone. Hell, maybe the last people here dropped a cell phone that still worked, and-

He blinked. There, beneath the streetlight, was a phone booth. It was filthy and one of the windows was gone completely, but through the glass he could see the phone sitting innocently in it's cradle.

He limped over without thought. He had a ten dollar bill in his pocket, but... No, they only take change. He didn't have change. Would it work without it? Kurt reached out, tugging on the door with his left hand. It refused at first, fighting the rust that held it shut before it finally opened, letting out a metallic shriek as he forced it out of his way. The simple act of opening the door had winded him, and for a long moment, he leaned against it, gasping.

With his head hanging, looking at the ground, Kurt found his answer. About three dollars worth of change, mostly nickles and dimes, was laying around his Gucci shoes. Panting, Kurt lowered himself onto his left knee and scooped up as many as his palm would hold before painfully forcing himself back up.

Fifty cents. Carefully, Kurt forced the coins into the slot, praying it would work. _Please_, he thought, imploring to whatever higher power was watching his pathetic plight, _please let this work. For my dad. Please._

But when he lifted the phone up and looked at the dial pad, his heart froze. All he wanted were two numbers. A nine, and a one. He only had to press the two keys three times to get what he wanted. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently. Because the 'one' button was gone, scraped out by whatever vandal had last been chatting on the phone. He couldn't dial 9-1-1.

"God _damnit_!" Kurt snapped, pounding his fist into the wall and wincing as pain shot up his arm. He whimpered, listening to the dial tone for a moment before forcing himself to recover. _You've got this, Hummel. You can do this. It's alright._

Who else? Who could he call and get a hold of? His mind flashed to so many numbers in his address book, but only one made sense. Only one struck him as a sensible number to call. Weakly, he held the phone between his shoulder and the side of his head, dialing the familiar digits carefully so as not to mess up and push the wrong button.

Ringing. Kurt closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the top of the phone. It stung whatever wound was up there on his forehead, but he ignored it. The sticky blood went entirely unnoticed as Kurt focused every fiber of his being on the ringing.

_"Hello?"_

Aqua eyes snapped open. "Finn?"

There was a pause on the other end, before a confused voice responded. _"No, Carole. Kurt, is that you?"_

He could have cried. He could have broken down right there, just at the sound of her voice. "Carole, help, please!" he sobbed, "We were in an accident, and dad is hurt, and this gas station is _disgusting_, but we had no phone and we need help because he's hurt, and- and, oh god, please help mom, _please_!"

Whether he was pleading with Carole, or his deceased mother, he didn't know. He was sobbing, so hard that he didn't notice himself sliding down the wall of the phone booth until he was huddled on the filthy floor. He clutched the phone as though his life depended on it, and perhaps it did.

_"Calm down, sweetie, it's alright. Where are you?"_ Carole sounded scared, but more confused than anything. _"What kind of accident? The car?"_

Kurt gasped for air. "Yes! I had to leave him there, h-he... He couldn't get out, a-and I don't-"

_"Breathe, sweetheart, breathe. Where are you?"_

"Everything hurts!"

_"Kurt, where are you?"_

His brain was getting foggy. The crying and yelling was making him dizzy, and Carole's voice began to sound strained.

"The... the highway," he panted, looking out through the open door of the booth. "With... By the red light, and the..."

A name, a name, please! What was the road's _name_?

_"Hazelwood?"_ Carole supplied. She sounded as if she was rushing around, and in the background, he could hear Finn asking what was wrong.

"Yes! … H-hazelwood..."

_"Are you with him?"_

Was he? No. Kurt shook his head, fighting to stay awake, struggling to keep the black clouds out of his vision. Little stars drifted around, so teasing and curious that he had to strain to ignore them.

"N-no... gas station... on the high... highway..."

_"Please, Kurt, stay there. Please. We're on our way."_

Kurt shook his head, the black swirling in faster. The pain in his hip seemed to numb a bit, and his arm didn't hurt as bad. Gradually, the phone slipped from his hand.

"Help..."

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Please review!


	4. Rats

Wow, I am thoroughly impressed and grateful for all the feedback. It's amazing to write something and have people actually _enjoy_ it! I'm pretty much done with the writing of this story, and all that's left is editing. So don't worry about this story dying.

Anyway, enjoy!

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**Part IV – Rats. **

His internal clock must have switched off. Kurt flinched, the ache of his body slowly returning as he parted his heavy eyelids. The walls of the phone booth stood tall around his slumped form, shielding him from the increasing wind.

Something moved against his leg. For a brief, irrational moment, Kurt thought it was Finn. Finn, or his father, or maybe Carole. Trying to wake him up so he could curled into his father's arms and be carted off to someplace warm and safe.

Weakly, Kurt looked down. Nestled beside him, sniffing at his gray skinny jeans, was not Finn. It wasn't his father or Carole. It was a huge, greasy rat.

Had he been more conscious, he would have had the energy to scream and jump up and kick it away. But, hindered by the fog in his head, Kurt only managed to gasp, his cry of shock strangled by fatigue. He shoved himself upward some, swinging his right hand at it with little thing, and barked in the resulting pain. The rodent squeaked and raced off, vanishing into the darkness beneath the rusting car body a few yards away.

Kurt clutched his arm and gasped for air, dizzy by the sudden circulation of oxygen to his brain. For a dreadful moment, he just huddled there, panting, before closing his eyes tightly. How long had he been out? Where were Carole and Finn?

Looking around, Kurt saw the phone hanging beside him. A small female voice was muttering something to him, and when he leaned closer to it, the words became clear.

_If you would like to make a call, please deposit fifty cents, and dial your desired-_

He leaned away, squinting around the parking lot. Had he actually called? Was it all some terrible fever dream? There was still change lying around him, dull and moldy. He looked back up at the phone.

There was still no 'one' button, but the other silver numbers were smudged with blood, that had since dried to a brownish color. Kurt swallowed and struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the side wall of the phone booth.

Maybe he had only been out for a few minutes. Carole had told him to stay put, didn't she? But he could limp to the road. They'd see him better that way. As he moved, he found new aches all up his body, the pain more pointed and specific. Panting, he stopped and leaned against one of the pillars that held up the roof over the pumps. It was rusted beyond belief, and scratched at his fingers as he pushed himself off again after catching his breath.

There was a small grassy strip between the driveway to the gas station and the highway. The second he reached it, his knees buckled beneath him, and he collapsed onto the soft cold earth, rolling to his left and huddling on his side.

He could feel sweat sting at his head wound. He was shaking horribly, panting. The wind swept over his small body, tugging at his shirt and hair, trying to drag him in the direction of the wreck. But he didn't get up. He lay there, panting, and listened.

A siren was wailing somewhere in the distance. It was so faint that, at first, he thought maybe it was only in his mind. Something he _wanted_ to hear, but wasn't actually there.

Then it started to grow louder. Kurt opened his eyes and squinted through the dead grass, staring down the highway in the direction of town. Tiny red lights swirled, hardly a speck in his vision, but grew consistently bigger, closer. The screaming siren increased in pitch, and as he lay there on the side of the highway, he recognized that it was, in fact, heading toward the wreck.

He could have laughed. His dull eyes looked upward toward the stars, speckled throughout the impressively cold black above him. _Fuck you, Universe. But thank you._

It was almost upon him now. Kurt felt heavy, so limp that the blackness started to seep back in. They would get to his dad, and then him? Or... Him and then his dad? There was only one, but he could hear other sirens coming from another direction. So how did they plan on doing this?

Then, the siren was upon him. It blew past, sending whips of air blowing over him, before the sound suddenly began to fade. Kurt blinked, instantly terrified again.

"Wait!" he rasped, his voice hardly forming in its weakened state. "W-...wait!"

The ambulance had passed him. It hadn't even slowed, it just continued to the wreck.

Slowly, the universe started to crumble around him. _They don't know where I am_, he thought. _I'm lost._ Hadn't he told Carole he was at the gas station? Oh, god, he was going to die before they found him. This couldn't be happening. His father would wake up in the hospital to the news that, while his son had managed to call for help, they hadn't found him until morning, frozen to death.

Tears stung his eyes. _No, no, no_, he thought desperately, struggling to get up. Light swirled around him, and something honked. He gasped, sobbing. _Please no. Dad, help me._

"_Kurt!_"

The strength he was using to push himself up with his left arm suddenly vanished. He collapsed back onto the ground, gasping for air. His chest was on fire.

"Jesus Christ, Kurt!"

Something touched his back. Rats! Kurt jerked, gasping, trying to swat them off. He couldn't see, not through the fatigue or tears or blood that had started to drip into his eyes. He released a strangled cry and tried to get away from whatever was touching him.

"Kurt, it's me, it's Finn!"

"Finn," he repeated, gasping the name as he inhaled. His left hand rubbed at his eyes brutally, struggling to clear them, but something grabbed his wrist.

"Oh, sweetie, no! Stop," came a female voice. Carole. Kurt panted her name as well, feeling something wet and warm dab the blood from his eyes. When it left, he parted his eyelids weakly. Two blurred, unfamiliar figures leaned over him, just dull colors against a black canvas.

"Dad," he panted, feeling the black fog swirl in. Finn said something, but another siren blotted it out and made it illegible. Lights swirled around him, and then, as if everything was suddenly alright, the blackness swallowed him. And the world fell to silence.

-x-x-x-

Please review if you're interested in more!


	5. Bumble

Without further delay (if there were delay to begin with,) here's the next chapter! Thanks so much for all the feedback you guys have been giving, it really means a lot!

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**Part V – Bumble. **

He was allergic to bee stings. When he was eight, he had been playing in the backyard-something about having his pink plastic dinosaur save his Power Rangers, who then had a wedding to celebrate. Their yard was big, and he was in the back corner, because the old stump back there would make the perfect alter.

It always made the perfect hive. He got stung four times, and by the time he ran into the house crying, he was already swelling. He was gasping by the time his father realized what had happened, and he was pink in the face when Burt adjusted his seat belt and pulled out of the driveway. He wheezed and sobbed all the way to the hospital, trying to tell his dad that he left his toys out there; they would get hurt. The wedding was ruined.

He always had an Epipen on him after that. Not that he ever went to the back corner of the yard anymore. That little pink dinosaur was probably still out there, waiting to exchange vows with the red Power Ranger. By now, they were both sunstained and moldy.

The hospital back then smelled an awful lot like the ambulance did now. His eyes were closed, and over the dull sound of the siren and the EMTs trying to ask Finn questions, he could swear he still heard his father telling him everything would be alright. He thought about how the nurse had dabbed his bee stings with antiseptic, and how he had cried into his dad's flannel shirt.

One of the EMTs leaned over him and carefully settled a breathing mask over the lower half of his face. Weakly, Kurt parted his eyelids and looked up at him, muttering something illegible. Finn took his hand and said something as well, but it bled into the other sounds around him, and the lights of the ambulance faded again.

Kurt closed his eyes and thought about bees.

-x-x-x-

Somehow, the hallways reminded him of those at school. The lighting was different, the colors were foreign, the sounds were strange. But from where he sat, looking down the white empty hall of the hospital wing, Finn couldn't help but compare it to the halls of McKinley. All it was missing was a cold slushie facial and Puck making out with someone around the corner.

Somehow, the comparison brought him a bit of comfort. It wasn't so bad, he thought, if he could still think about school. It wasn't the end of the world. They would be okay.

Burt had come out of surgery an hour ago. His leg was broken in three places, and there was some ligament damage. He had some bruised ribs and a concussion. But he was alright, and awake, and currently trying to decide if he should focus his strength on reassuring Carole, or demanding to see Kurt.

Kurt was still in surgery. His elbow had taken some significant damage, and he had a deep laceration on his hip. Broken ribs. Sprained knee. A nasty head wound that he had managed to stay conscious with until they finally found him.

The other cuts and bruises weren't worth mentioning. They didn't matter; they'd heal before he left the hospital, even, if the doctor's concerns were realized. Kurt would have to go through some physical therapy because of his hip and knee. Because of how he had walked two and a half miles to get help.

But then, if he hadn't, they'd both be dead. Finn had a sinking suspicion that Kurt knew the consequences of his actions, and did it anyway.

The strange, burning, overwhelming feeling in his chest was pride, he realized. _He_ certainly wouldn't have had the courage to do what Kurt had done. He wouldn't have been able to crawl out of a wreck like that and walk all that way for help. Or, he didn't think he did. Maybe if he was suddenly in a dire situation, he'd be able to. People can do incredible things in situations like that.

But Kurt had that strength all that time. He _always_ had that courage. Just being him, and being what he loved, required more courage than Finn had. And knowing that that kid, that flamboyant, bouncy, fiery kid was _his_ brother... Finn looked forward to going back to school. To walk the _real_ halls of McKinley, not just the imaginary hospital halls. Because when he did, he would be able to tell everyone what had happened. He would_ brag _about his step brother's strength.

But for now, his mind was more focused on other things. He had gone for a walk, trying to clear his head, trying to grasp the situation. It was still too unreal for him.

He had been IMing Rachael, texting Quinn and playing Black Ops online with Puck. He was comfortable and warm and totally content, with the small exception of how Rachael was starting to annoy him. The phone rang in the other room, and he had ignored it. His mother was closer, anyway.

He listened to her one-sided conversation, how she was apparently talking to Kurt. But then she started to sound worried, and then panicked, and then straight-up _scared_. And Finn suddenly forgot about everything he was doing. He dropped his controller, left his laptop sitting, left his phone on the floor beside him.

And the nightmare kicked off like a dreaded football game. Only their kicker was, in his mind, crushed under a truck somewhere in the dark.

But they had found him, perhaps a little too late, but not late enough. Kurt was disoriented, crying, asking for his dad with every breath he could get. He looked so pathetic lying there, so fragile and bloody and hopeless. Just about anything but defeated, Finn had thought. Because Kurt was still fighting to get up, to get to his dad.

Until he passed out, at least. In the ambulance, with Carole following close behind in the car, Finn took Kurt's hand and told him it would be okay. _I'm here, buddy,_ he had said. _You're okay, you're safe._

It was just to comfort himself, now that he thought about it. Kurt didn't seem to care or acknowledge Finn's promises. But Finn needed to do it.

And now he was in surgery, in the hospital, in the dead of night. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Finn knew he should call someone. At least Rachael, just to let her know what had happened. So she could tell the rest of the club tomorrow at school. They would out eventually, right? They had to. They all cared about Kurt. Mercedes would freak out for sure.

Finn leaned against the wall in the hallway carefully, blowing a slow breath out of his lungs. He should go back soon, he thought. His mom would be worried about him. And the last thing she needed was more worry after everything that had happened.

But he didn't move. Not at first, anyway, not for a few minutes. He leaned there, staring at the tiles between his sneakers, thinking about how close they might have been to losing the two Hummels. How neither of them would be able to walk on their own any time soon. He saw football practices dissolve before his eyes, realizing that he would rather be home helping. That he would have to, whether he wanted to or not. And suddenly, his position as quarterback seemed to fade too.

But, oddly, he didn't care.

-x-x-x-

There will be one last wrap-up chapter. Please review!


	6. Exhale

The final chapter! I know it's not what some of you were hoping for in reviews, but I hope it's enough to satisfy you. There's a note the end of the chapter, so if you're interest in a little extra info, you can read it. But no further delays!

-x-x-x-

**Part VI – Exhale.**

He had never put much stock in Finn's level of reliability. Sure, there was a time when he had desperately wanted Finn to love him back with an intensity that matched his own, but that love had eventually faded to a more brotherly affection. And soon, he lost interest in Finn romantically. After that, all it took was a few misses: Finn calling him a nasty name; Finn telling him that he would ruin Sam's reputation if he sang a duet with him; Finn conveniently being late to the locker room when the other Glee guys had confronted Karofsky. Finn had been too afraid to _really_ be his brother.

But Kurt hadn't really minded. He had accepted it about Finn, and while it sometimes weighed more heavily on him, it was just who Finn was. He cared about his reputation as much as Kurt cared about his outfit matching. And it wasn't like he was _never_ there for him, if the Lady Gaga incident was anything to shout about.

So upon waking up the afternoon following the accident, Kurt hadn't expected to find Finn sitting there, leaning over the bed and clutching his left hand. Kurt blinked at him for a few minutes, silent and watching as Finn stared toward the window. Then he moaned a bit, and Finn's eyes snapped toward him, hopeful.

"... Kurt! You're awake," he gasped, relief flooding his facial features. The soprano knew he didn't have the strength to speak, and so resigned himself to nodding a bit. Finn looked so genuinely happy to see those greenish-blue eyes that for a moment, he just sat there, grinning like an idiot.

"Your dad is fine," he said suddenly, answering the silent expression of concern on Kurt's face. It was hard to move his eyebrows with the large patch of gauze that was wrapped against his forehead, but he managed to lift them at the news.

"He, um. He has a broken leg, but that's the worst of it. He's awake and worried about you."

Kurt opened his mouth, feeling a thin gasp of air escape through his swollen throat as he tried to speak. Closing his eyes, he drew in a careful breath and tried again.

"Where?" His whisper was crushed, and paper-thin. It was too difficult to talk, and Finn could see that.

"He's in his own room. They said they'll move you there once they're sure you've recovered from the surgery."

Kurt looked at him a moment longer, his face concerned and confused before he turned his head around toward the window. Finn leaned forward a bit, brushing some of Kurt's soft brown hair out of the way of the bandage on his forehead. He figured Kurt would do so if he could lift his arms. After all, no hair should be out of place, no matter the circumstance. Right?

"I texted Rachael about what happened. She promised to keep it quiet until I called her, so... Is it alright if I tell her you're okay? So everyone at Glee club will know?"

Kurt looked back toward him, blinking slowly. Then, with some effort, he inhaled to speak.

"_Am_ I okay?"

Finn looked at him, a little surprised. "Well... Yeah. I mean, you'll be fine. Are you in pain?"

Kurt shook his head some.

"Okay. Good. Yeah, no, you're fine. You'll be just fine."

His repetitive, nervous speech brought a very small smile to Kurt's face. Finn was still Finn. It couldn't be that bad, then, could it? If Finn was collected enough to be scattered and confused like he normally is, than surely the situation couldn't be that dire. Kurt closed his eyes, ignoring Finn when he asked why he was smiling. Sleep crept in on him again, gentle and comforting.

He was alright. His dad was fine. The nightmare was over.

-x-x-x-

His hand tugged absently at the Velcro of his black knee brace. Slowly, he would tear off, than tighten it, and wrap it back on. Tear, tighten, wrap. Again and again, until finally, Finn looked over at him.

"That's the most annoying sound in the world."

"Honey, shush." From the front seat, Carole glanced back at her son and shook her head, radiating a warning look. Finn moved to say something before stopping himself, glancing back toward Kurt.

It was the first "long" car ride he'd had since the accident. He had been silent except for the occasional "I'm okay," when his father would look around from the passenger's seat and ask how he was doing.

Burt didn't appear to be nervous. _My business is cars, _he had said upon climbing into the SUV, glancing back over the seats at Finn put his crutches in the back. _I'll be fine._ But his son, who had experienced a more exaggerated hell than he had, hadn't said much of anything. He just looked out the window and monitored his breathing.

Finn swallowed. He had forgotten, momentarily, about the assumed fragility of Kurt's mental state. For a moment, he was worried that he had ruined everything, but Kurt just looked out the window, unaffected. He stopped fussing the Velcro.

It was a clear day. There were plenty of cars rolling around, and people walking, and sunlight splashing down through the leaves of the trees above. It was the perfect day for the Hummel-Hudson family to attend a concert in the park, and the other members of New Directions would be there waiting.

Kurt sighed. When Mercedes had arrived at the door of his hospital room, her face was a bizarre hybrid of anger and unholy relief. _Goddamn, white boy, don't you ever do anything like that ever again or so help me-_

She had smothered him until the nurse shooed her home. The day after that, the rest of New Directions filed over the course of a few hours. Blaine had come, driving in from Dalton to see him. _Drive carefully,_ Kurt had added on the end of his phone conversation with him, laughing morbidly at his own joke. Blaine hadn't thought it was that funny.

It had been a month already, though. His physical therapy was going far better than they had anticipated. And while no one should have to relearn how to walk, his instructor had said he was a natural. Perhaps all that strutting down an imaginary catwalk in his room as a child had paid off.

But his knee still ached, and his hip still tingles sometimes. He had a brace on his right elbow, just a little metal-free wrap that matched the one around his knee. He had been so disappointed when he found that they only made them in black and an ugly tan color. So black it was, because he had more to match them. But he hated them anyway.

His forehead was another story. The stitches had come out only a week prior. _Minimal scarring,_ they had said. The little pink line laughed back at them, swirling just under his hairline to the right of his forehead. He would need more coverup than Ellen Degeneres could sell.

"We're here," Carole's voice announced, muffled through his thoughts. He glanced away from the window with glazed eyes, lost in a daydream until Finn's hand pressed against his shoulder. Without thought, his lips curled into a thin smile, and he unbuckled his seat belt.

Brittany and Tina were somewhere outside, smiling at him when his knee-high converse hit the gravel parking lot. Kurt smiled at them, struggling to shake off the nervousness from being in the car. Their greetings were emphasized by their attempt at hooking arms with him and leading him away from the car, but before they could be off, someone cleared their throat behind them.

Kurt turned. His father smiled back, a strained grin that said _I need to speak to you in private first_. Kurt gave the two girls a nod before twisting around toward Burt, who gave a more genuine grin.

"You sure you're okay? We still have to drive home afterwards."

Kurt looked down at his toes for a minute, refusing to look at his knee brace. "Yeah, I'm fine. It'll be harder on the way home, though..."

"Because it'll be dark," Burt nodded, glancing up at the sky. "But it's not now."

"Nope."

They shared a silence. Kurt was about to ask if he could go when he felt his father's arms wrap around him, pulling him into a hug. The soprano tensed for a brief moment before relaxing, hugging the man back.

"I'm so proud of you, Kurt."

The distant, annoying urge to cry welled in the pit of his stomach, but Kurt denied it with a quick breath. Closing his eyes, he hugged his dad a bit tighter before they parted.

"Thanks, dad," he muttered, smiling. They turned away from the car, toward a small crowd that was gathering before a cement stage. Burt with his crutches, and Kurt with his knee brace.

Both limping, both alive.

-x-x-x-

**Finished!**

Thank you all so much for all the feedback and interest! I really appreciate every single alert, fav, and review.

**Note: **There may be another story that is _sort of _a sequel this. If it happens, it'll pick up a month or so later with it's own plot, but this will have happened. If I can bring myself to write it, of course. Otherwise, I'll definitely be posting other fics in the future! I hope to see you guys again!


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